


a very quidditch christmas

by aglassfullofhappiness (mehmehs)



Series: a family that flies together (Quidditch AU verse) [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Sports, Christmas, Christmas Party, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Quidditch, Team Feels, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27936592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehmehs/pseuds/aglassfullofhappiness
Summary: By December of Nicky’s first season with the Guard, the team is steadily climbing their conference rankings, he is leading the League in Beater stats, and he is officially losing his mind over Yusuf al-Kaysani.A holiday season extravaganza of professional pining, many soft moments and team shenanigans.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: a family that flies together (Quidditch AU verse) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965640
Comments: 61
Kudos: 207





	a very quidditch christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing segment from _a family that flies together_ , a professional Quidditch AU😊
> 
> Timestamp: towards the end of Part I, just before the World Cup. It’s Nicky’s first season with the Guard, and just over a year since his and Joe’s fortuitous meet-ouch the season prior. There’s still half a season before they officially get together. It’s a StruggleTM for everyone involved.
> 
> Warning: gratuitous amounts of found family holiday vibes and a truly obnoxious level of pining. I’d forgotten how long and how deeply they were pining for until I checked the timeline and I just…I’m sorry. Happy December everyone <3 
> 
> Huge shoutout to [harryhotspur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryhotspur/pseuds/harryhotspur) and [magpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieMorality/pseuds/OldMagpie) for the 24/7 support and literal 3 am beta. Absolute legends.

By December of Nicky’s first season with the Guard, the team is steadily climbing their conference rankings, he is leading the League in Beater stats, and he is officially losing his mind over Yusuf al-Kaysani.

He should have seen it coming, really; should have foreseen it last season and told his agent to avoid negotiating a trade to the Guard completely. He’s holding it together for games, but outside of it – good God. If Joe doesn’t stop looking like – or looking at _Nicky_ like…well. Nicky might just spontaneously combust. Luckily, his job involves a lot of working out, and so far he’s been able to channel any frustration that way. The distraction though – that’s a problem. He’s had a few close calls now during practice, where he’d caught Joe doing something theatrical and couldn’t look away. Actually, that’s a lie – he’d almost flown into Nile one particularly embarrassing time when Joe had simply looped around him and _smiled_. Nile had veered out of his way with a snort, and it’s a testament to how wonderful she is that she hasn’t ribbed him for it. Much.

The distraction, unbidden and unexpected, is a little terrifying. Before this, Nicky has _never_ been distracted; Quidditch has always been the singular, driving force in his life, and he’s proud of that. People make a lot of fuss about how much the sport takes from an athlete’s life, but as far as Nicky is concerned, it’s a goddamn privilege that’s also a fantastic excuse to minimise other nuisances, such as family drama, high-maintenance friendships and other committed relationships. He’s seen teammates struggle with nagging family members and crying partners, seen them miss practice and games for unforeseen circumstances that have them unfocused for weeks. It’s always a hassle.

It’s not that Nicky doesn’t _understand_ it, theoretically. It’s not that he can’t see the boon of having a wider support structure outside of the team, or the appeal of having someone to come home to. He quietly loves family flight days, where team and crew bring their kids onto the pitch. But he also understands the stress that external parties bring, and he feels their lives are already stressful enough. He’s always had his Quidditch family, whether that be the Italian cohort or his current League team, and he’s done everything else on his own for so long he can’t imagine it any other way. He doesn’t think he’s done too bad of a job either, if he does say so himself. So yes – the distraction is…questionable.

What’s _more_ questionable is how little he seems to mind it. Usually, when something starts to shake his concentration, he identifies it and cuts it off as fast as possible. The last significant distraction he’d had was probably at twenty-one, when his family had tried to get back in touch after he’d won his first Championship. Even then, he thinks he’d managed to detach from it fairly quickly. At twenty-six, it’s only a sore point now if he thinks about it too long, which he doesn’t day-to-day. Considering how bad he’d felt during, Nicky calls that a win.

But with Joe, Nicky doesn’t just _not mind_ the distraction – he really, really likes it. And that’s maybe the most terrifying thing of all. Usually, he’d be annoyed at anyone joking around so much during practice, or throwing off his tailored schedule with impromptu plans all the time. Instead, he finds himself laughing so openly he snorts, which is _embarrassing_ , and perking up every time he gets a message from Joe that says _yo, dinner?_ or _found a movie I think you’d love!_ or simply _hey, you all good?_ Maybe he doesn’t mind it because they’re playing so well, both individually and as a team. Nicky has always held too much tension in his body when he plays, which affects his swing; maybe being a little more relaxed is optimising his play. But that makes him worry about the inevitable downturn; how he’ll feel if it seems his fun with Joe is detracting from his performance. It makes him worry that he _isn’t_ worried enough to put an end to it. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s all very confusing.

Nicky can’t say for sure when things had switched from _ohshitohshit I nearly killed you_ to _oh, friends?_ to whatever they are now. It had crept up on him over last season, too slow to be caught, and then seemingly accelerated in one fell swoop. His excitement at being traded to the Guard was maybe an easy signpost, but he’d never have been so thrilled if it wasn’t for how he already felt around Joe, he’s sure. When he tries to unpack what those feelings are, however, his brain seems to short circuit a little. So he just…doesn’t, and lets himself bask in the warmth that Joe brings to everyone around him. He is, Nicky thinks, rather like the sun; only a fool wouldn’t want to orbit around him. He hadn’t noticed it during their sporadic hangouts but frequent messaging over last season, but now he’s around Joe almost every day it feels like gravity, inevitable and inescapable.

It’s about here, when he starts thinking in similes, that he has to stop himself. _Joe_ is the poet, not him. Joe is the one who waxes lyrical about anything and everything; the one who compliments Nicky so casually he can’t deflect it, but so beautifully it makes Nicky’s heart squeeze. He could listen to Joe talk for hours. The strange thing is that it seems Joe could listen to _Nicky_ talk for even longer. It’s still surprises him, even though Joe has always been patient with him, even when Nicky loses his train of thought from the way Joe watches him, chin propped on one hand, leaning in close. Nicky has never had anyone give him such undivided attention – unless you counted reporters, which he very much did not. No, Joe listens to him like every word Nicky says is precious, even when he knows Joe doesn’t care about stats as much as he does. Joe has the unnerving ability to make Nicky very honest, and he thinks it’ll get him in trouble, one of these days. Funnily enough, he doesn’t think he’ll mind doing that with Joe, either.

~*~

During their first practice in December, Andy sidles up to Joe during his water break and says,

“So, how’s that professional hard-on going?”

Joe nearly spits water all over her.

“What?” he splutters, and then catches her pointed look upwards, to where Nicky is doing target practice with Ferreira. Joe had, of course, been watching him, but you know, he’s _allowed_. They stand in silence for a moment, watching Nicky spiral into a smooth swing that echoes like music across the pitch. Andy lets out a quiet sigh, and Joe gives her an incredulous look.

“You’re _impressed_ ,” he says, crossing his arms. “And you’re giving _me_ grief –”

Andy just smirks at him. Joe subsides, fighting the urge to pout. He knows exactly why she’s able to tease him and there’s no point denying it.

“Okay,” he says, grudgingly. “You were…eighty percent correct.”

“Only eighty?” she says, eyebrow raising. “I didn’t think your maths was that bad, al-Kaysani.”

“Well, it’s actually been _great_ for our gameplay,” Joe says. Nicky rolls to hit two bludgers in perfect succession, and he resists the urge to pour his water directly over his head. “So you can’t fault me for that.”

“If that’s the case,” Andy says, “are you going to tell him?”

“That I –?” Joe says, and then lowers his voice as the Chasers jog past, Nile casting them a curious look. “I mean…I want to. But…”

“Mm,” Andy says, and her expression turns serious, a little distant. “I know.”

Joe lets her stand in silence for a moment. It’s his fourth season with the Guard now, and he’s never had a relationship with a Coach like he has with Andy. She’s a players’ player; a legend in the air but as human as they are on the ground. Joe remembers watching her play as a child, remembers her vanishing for a decade after Quynh – only to return, tight-lipped and staunch, to drag the Guard back into relevance. He’s lucky, to have come in when he had, to be welcomed into a team that’s steadily on its way back to glory. Joe would happily play for Andy and the Guard until he retires, and that’s hopefully a long, _long_ way off.

“I want to let him settle in a bit more first,” Joe says, and Andy nods. “The trade’s still fresh, and I don’t want to mess with that. And if it goes wrong…” He grimaces, the mere thought of it making his gut twist. Andy laughs, but it’s a soft sound.

“I don’t think you have to be overly worried about that,” she says, “but I’m glad you’re thinking about it.” She smiles, a smirk returning to her expression. “My my, Yusuf, so mature now. It’s nice to see Genovese’s good influence rubbing off on you. Although I’m sure you wish something _else_ was rubbing off on –”

Joe yelps and smacks at her, just as Nicky lands neatly beside them, eyebrows raised. His hair is windswept, flush high on his cheeks, and Joe forgets about everything else for a split second.

“He giving you grief, Coach?” Nicky asks Andy, who grins at them both.

“Just talking about how well you two are rubbing off on each other,” she says, because she’s still a player at heart, and that includes the goddamn humour. Nicky, bless him, doesn’t seem to catch the innuendo and just nods, looking pleased.

“Yes, I think we’ve both improved a lot,” he says seriously, and Joe can see Andy biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Although I daresay _I’ve_ had the greater impact. All Joe does is distract me.”

“Oh, so you find him distracting?” Andy asks, and Nicky pauses. Joe can almost see the cogs turning in his head, trying to balance the banter he’s established with Andy, and the knee-jerk reaction to not admit weakness in front of your Coach. Andy takes pity on him and waves a hand. “I’m just kidding,” she says. “He’s not pretty enough for that.”

Nicky opens his mouth like he’s going to – what, agree or defend? – but Andy seems to have done enough shit-stirring for one day and mounts her broom. Nicky straightens immediately.

“Got enough energy for a round with me?” Andy asks, and Nicky shoots Joe a smile before kicking off after her, so fast he’s a blur. Joe tries not to sigh like a wistful teenager and finishes his water. Life is so _difficult_ , sometimes.

~*~

December is always hectic – holiday season brings a slew of public events, while players try to snatch more time with family and friends. The Guard are slated to play over Christmas, which means pushing the team holiday party forwards.

“Are you still alright to host?” Andy asks Joe in November. “I know you and Booker usually organised it together.” Her mouth twists, and Joe mirrors her expression. Booker’s trade still sits painfully between them, and it certainly will be odd this year. Booker has always been the backbone of social events, always prepared with antics and alcohol. He’d also known a lot more about hosting logistics.

“I’ll figure it out,” Joe says. 

Andy nods and says “maybe ask Nicky to help,” as if Joe hadn’t already been thinking of that.

Nicky’s expression does something funny when Joe brings it up.

“Doesn’t front office usually oversee that?” he asks, and Joe nods.

“Yeah, we definitely need their help, but I like to be across it, considering it’s at mine,” he says. “It’s a really homely thing, you know? Everyone brings their families, all the team and crew are together…” He smiles at Nicky, hoping he already feels what Joe means, several months into his trade. “It’s something I really love about the Guard. We’re as close off the pitch as we are on it. With everyone.”

“I’ve noticed,” Nicky says, sitting down at the kitchen counter. He’s a familiar fixture in Joe’s house by now; Joe can’t remember the last time Nicky hasn’t popped by between practices. “It’s…interesting.”

“Mm?” Joe asks, setting Nicky’s tea down in front of him. Nicky’s fingers brush over his as he takes the mug, and Joe almost feels like he’s scalded himself. “How so?”

“I’ve only been with two other League teams,” Nicky says, “and they’ve been great, truly. But the way the Guard is...” He looks at Joe over the rim of his mug. “It’s different. And I think it’s what you said – the familial thing.”

“We have that rep for a reason,” Joe says, smiling. He’s quite proud of it, really, and he’s determined to maintain it, even with Booker gone. He wants Nicky to feel it as he had; he wants Nicky to have a home here. With him. With the team.

“Hm,” Nicky says, and Joe leans forward on the counter, catching his gaze.

“What is it?” he asks, and Nicky shakes his head. He’s not dismissing Joe, though, only thinking. Joe is always happy to wait; it gives him a good excuse to just look at Nicky, watch the way his mouth purses as he thinks, eyebrows furrowing slightly. When they’d first started hanging out, Joe had found him hard to read; over a year later, Nicky is like his favourite crossword puzzle. Joe dares say he’s pretty good at solving him by now.

“I think…” Nicky says, and he glances at Joe like he’s wary of his response. “I think it can be dangerous, a team being too close.”

Joe tilts his head, trying not to jump to conclusions. Nicky’s words send a slight chill through his skin, even with the fire going.

“How so?” he asks, intentionally light. “Surely it’s just better for cohesion.”

“Well, yes,” Nicky says, inclining his head. “And I think you can definitely see it in the Guard’s play, when things are going well. But…” He pauses, glancing at Joe again before looking away. “There’s a fine line between being _close_ and being _professional_ , isn’t there?”

Ah. Fuck.

“Sure,” Joe says, very carefully. “But I wouldn’t say the Guard is unprofessional. Have you felt that in your time with us so far?”

Nicky pauses for so long Joe almost starts to sweat.

“No,” he finally says. “I don’t believe so. It’s just – _more_ than I’ve experienced before, is all. Barring maybe Team Italy, but that’s always a bit different.”

“For sure,” Joe says, nodding. “And every team in the League is different. We’re just closer than most, I guess.”

“Yes,” Nicky says. Joe can’t tell if he’s blushing or just red from the steam of his tea. “And for the most part, it works very well. I…enjoy it,” he says, and then adds, so quick Joe almost misses it, “I enjoy it a lot.”

“That’s great!” Joe says, smile widening. Nicky shoots him a quick smile back, but he has more to say, Joe can tell. A few moments later, Nicky opens his mouth again and says,

“But – when it goes badly – it can really affect the whole team. Events off the pitch affect us more during play. And that’s dangerous.”

“Such as?” Joe asks, and his throat feels a little tight, voice a little nervous. He’s increasingly worried about where Nicky’s taking this, and yet can’t help but ask. Nicky looks at him for a long moment before saying,

“Booker, for example. Obviously affected the team a lot, even though trades are commonplace in any major league sport.”

“He’s particularly special to us, I will say,” Joe counters. “He was a big part of the family feel. Raised a lot of rookies, is a close personal friend to many of the crew and especially Andy. That was always going to be a hard one.”

“Fair,” Nicky says. His expression softens as he adds, “Booker was always very good with family. I’m glad to hear he kept mentoring rookies.”

Joe watches him curiously. After he’d become friends with Nicky, he’d learnt something about Nicky billeting with Booker during his rookie season. But that had been in the _before_ of Booker’s life, and Joe had never pressed him on it. He might ask Nicky about it later, now they’re closer. Nicky blinks before focusing back on Joe.

“You can see it when someone’s off, or has something external going on,” he says, sounding like an analyst again. “It affects the team more because we’re so attuned to each other. There’s minimal separation between off and on pitch. The amount of time we spend together outside of Quidditch…”

Joe looks at him sharply. He can’t tell if Nicky is using the royal ‘we’ or critiquing _them_ specifically. It’s true – they do spend an exorbitant amount of time together. Did Nicky – was this him trying to say –

“You think we…” Joe says, gesturing between them, and Nicky sits up, eyes going wide.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean –” he starts, rushed. He reaches across the counter and grips Joe’s hand. Joe nearly spills his tea all over himself. “I mean, I’m the one crashing at your house all the time –”

“I don’t mind –” Joe says, even though he really means _I fucking love it, please don’t stop._ Nicky gives him a tentative smile, and Joe smiles back at him until he realises they’re just standing in silence, holding hands. Something must show in his face, because Nicky starts and draws his hand back like he’s been burnt. They both look away, clearing their throats, before Nicky speaks again. He is definitely blushing now.

“I just worry…” he says, “if something really big happens. How it’ll affect the team, with us being as close as we are. Remember when Ferreira’s husband had that accident? We knew he’d be fine, but we were all distracted, not just Ferreira.”

“But Nicky,” Joe says slowly, “that’s just…life, isn’t it? Things will happen regardless. Quidditch obviously takes precedence for us, but our lives continue to happen around it. Family, friends, other loves – they’ll always be there, in both the good and the bad. We just have to learn to manage that.”

“Not necessarily,” Nicky says, matter-of-fact. “I don’t have anything except Quidditch and that means little to manage.”

He makes an impatient noise when he sees the look on Joe’s face.

“You know what I mean,” he says, as if that’s meant to make it any better. “Not everyone has a family like yours, Joe.”

“I know,” Joe says, sighing. “I guess it’s just…” He pauses, casting around for a way Nicky will understand. “It’s a cost-benefit analysis, isn’t it?” he says, and Nicky raises an eyebrow, catching onto his play. “With the team, external things are always going to happen and affect someone, which might then affect all of us. But is that worth the payoff, when it also brings such benefits?” He looks directly into Nicky’s face then, and aches to take his hand again. “Are the benefits worth it to you?” he says. He can’t say exactly what they’re referring to anymore. “Is it worth the risk?”

Nicky is silent for a long time, just watching him. Joe can see every fleck of colour in his eyes, wide and inscrutable. More words sit on the edge of his tongue, but he keeps his mouth shut. _Is it worth it, to you? Do you know how much I’d be willing to risk for you?_

“I see,” Nicky says finally, voice soft. His hand is mere centimetres from Joe’s on the counter. “Thank you, Joe. I’ll think about it.”

“Alright,” Joe says, unsure what he’s saying _alright_ to. He feels slightly dazed, like something’s exploded next to him without a sound. It’s either that or just the way Nicky is looking at him, not quite smiling but calm now, considering. He’s always loved Nicky’s focus; the way Nicky thinks through things. Right now, he can’t quite figure out where Nicky’s mind is. But that’s fine. He can wait. It’s worth it, to wait. 

~*~

For someone who proclaims to be so singularly focused on Quidditch, Nicky certainly seems to have the busiest extra-curricular calendar in December. Joe notices because they spend so much time off-pitch together that it’s immediately obvious when they…don’t. There are a lot of charity events and fundraisers and visiting kids in hospitals, as part of the team and also with the League. Where Joe loves them and attends every one, Nicky is much more selective. He avoids any fancy event he can, but shows up to anything involving children or teenagers. The team is a little surprised by this – Nicky had struck a lot of them as someone who might dislike kids. Instead, he makes a wonderful guest coach and is surprisingly nonchalant when babies throw up on him. He does seem to take it all very seriously, even just the meet-and-greets, but then again, it’s Nicky.

He also travels back and forth to Italy a lot, which has Joe very curious by the third time he realises Nicky has vanished for the day and he can’t get hold of him.

“What were you up to?” Joe asks when Nicky lets himself in at nine p.m. Joe likes to think he’s had a busy day, and _hasn’t_ been waiting for Nicky to get back _at all_ , thank you very much. He’s been sketching, and he snaps the notebook shut and tucks it away hastily as Nicky comes in. Luckily, Nicky goes for the kitchen instead, and Joe watches him rummage around for snacks. He thinks he should be more concerned by how Nicky has automatically come back to _his_ place, rather than to his own house, considering the hour. He _should_ be, but he’s too happy to care.

“Mm?” Nicky says, and then rolls his eyes. “You knew where I was, Joe.”

“Did I?” Joe frowns. “I don’t remember…”

“I had a meeting I wanted to attend in-person back home,” Nicky says. “I told you this morning when I left.”

“What? I don’t even remember you leaving.”

“Well, it _was_ five a.m.,” Nicky allows, coming over with the little cheeseboard he’s made up. Even with snacks, Nicky has flawless food presentation.

“Why was I up at five a.m. on an off day?” Joe asks. He does vaguely remember being unfortunately cold and conscious in the kitchen, but the details are hazy.

“You _told_ me you were still going to work out without me,” Nicky says, raising both eyebrows. “I’m assuming that didn’t happen.”

“Uh…” Joe says, scratching at his beard. “Did I really say…?”

“I said,” Nicky starts, gearing up for a lecture, “ _hey, I’m off to Italy for the day_ , and you said _mmaighthavfun.”_

Nicky drops his voice in an unflattering impression. Joe kicks at him and Nicky grabs his ankle, undeterred.

“And because you’d actually made it out of your room, I said _you promise to still work out without me?_ And you said _mmhm_ in an affirmative note after I made you coffee. And then I left. And then you broke your promise.”

“Okay, come on,” Joe protests. Nicky’s fingers are warm against the back of his heel, and it’s very distracting. “I obviously wasn’t fully awake to make that promise, that’s not fair.” In fact-, what he _does_ clearly remember is waking up on the couch at eight, cocooned in the throw blanket that still smelled like Nicky from the night before. Maybe he’d buried his face in it and napped for another hour. No one had to know. “Besides, a five a.m. portkey for somewhere so close? That’s just masochistic.”

“I’m less likely to be recognised then,” Nicky says, shrugging. “And I had a lot to do. Actually…” He squeezes Joe's ankle before getting up. Joe watches curiously as he pulls out a stack of files and moves to the dining table to spread them out, face growing serious in concentration.

“Can’t that wait?” Joe says. “You must be knackered.”

“But I remember all the details right now,” Nicky replies, as if he isn’t a copious note taker. “I won’t be long.”

Joe watches him for a couple minutes; watches the way Nicky’s fingers run over the pages as he reads, lips pursing, shoulders curving in. When Nicky turns back to his bag, he pauses to smile at Joe, and Joe gets up to join him like he’s been hooked. Nicky looks surprised, one hand flattening over the page he’s on, but he doesn’t ask Joe to move.

“Looks complicated,” Joe says, gesturing to the mass of paperwork.

“It’s not so bad.” Nicky scratches his signature on some neatly marked lines. “There’s just always a lot happening this time of year.”

“A lot of…what?” It’s not like Nicky to be vague with him, and if he really doesn’t want Joe to know, he wouldn’t be doing it here. Nicky flips through more pages before he says,

“I have some…personal projects.”

Joe tilts his head. These look like legal and financial documents, not Quidditch related at all.

“Outreach?” he guesses. Nicky is quiet for a long moment before he says, not looking up,

“I suppose that’s what it’s called.”

Joe props his chin up on his hand. His curiosity is well and truly piqued, but there’s something in Nicky’s voice that makes him tread lightly.

“I didn’t know you did stuff like that outside the League,” he says.

Nicky hums, shaking his head a little.

“I try to keep it quiet,” he says, and Joe can’t help but smile, like he does every time Nicky shares something with him, private and precious. “There’s already a lot of projects that use my name for…attention, or fundraising. And that’s fine, but I also…” He glances at Joe. “I wanted to do something different.”

“That’s awesome,” Joe says. That makes a lot of sense. “So what do you do instead?”

Nicky makes half the files stack themselves and starts in on the others. He keeps his head down, but his foot presses against Joe’s under the table.

“I…” he hesitates, and then clears his throat. “I have a private foundation.”

“Oh nice,” Joe says. “And you fund projects through that?”

“Mmhm.” Nicky nods. “Some change year to year, but there’s a few I’ve kept since the beginning.” He pauses, fingers tapping against the table before he lifts up a file and pulls something free from it. “Here,” he says, and slides it across to Joe.

It’s a photograph. There are twenty odd children trying to fit into frame, all in their ragtag best, herded into place by several smiling adults. Joe’s not great at guessing ages, but they all look under ten. Some of the older kids are trying to get the younger ones to stand still, while the younger ones just seem to want piggyback rides. They’re in some sort of backyard, holiday decorations already up against the building behind them. It’s so endearing Joe can’t control his expression, and Nicky laughs softly, hand next to Joe’s on the table. When Joe looks up, the expression on Nicky’s face makes him forget his words. He sees his own sentiments there, reflected, but also a quiet, fierce pride that makes Nicky’s eyes shine. He looks almost defiant, as if expecting Joe to mock him. Joe puts a hand over Nicky’s wrist; he wants to take his hand, but that feels like a riskier move with every passing day.

“Tell me about them,” he says, and Nicky’s gaze softens. He leans in over the photograph as Joe watches him, enraptured. All this time together and there’s always more to discover, with Nicky. Joe loves…he loves that about him.

“We have these…communities,” Nicky starts slowly, “in Italy – like children’s homes, I think they’re called here. For children who don’t have families or – appropriate caregivers, right now. It’s a complicated thing. But it’s what we currently have and I…” His free hand rests on the corner of the photograph, like he wants to jump into frame himself. “I support a few of these.”

Knowing Nicky, _support_ is probably a vast understatement. He points at the building in the photograph.

“This one was badly damaged in the earthquake,” he says. “None of the children were hurt, thankfully, but it’s been a really difficult time. The rebuild finished earlier this year. Still too late by my standards but…” He looks up into Joe’s face. “It got done, and better, too. It’ll be their first holiday with everything done up.”

They are so close Joe can see the faint lines Nicky gets when he smiles like this, small but clear. Nicky angles the photograph and starts running a finger over it.

“Paola,” he says, pointing to a little girl with dark, frizzy hair, sucking her thumb as she clutches a teddy. “I met her when she first arrived, actually. Caterina and Concetta here – twins, actually, just not identical. They’ve grown up so much, it’s crazy. Kids come and go, obviously, so I haven’t met them all, but they tell me Pietro here is a great older brother – he came in a bit later, I think he was nine when he arrived…” He runs through everyone in the photograph, including all the adults, and Joe listens without needing to say a word. It’s only when Nicky runs out of breath that he stops and sits back. His wrist is still under Joe’s hand.

“Sorry,” Nicky says, going slightly pink. “I just – it’s been a lot of work, and it was so good to finally see it pay off today. Everyone was very excited. I wanted to…share that.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to show you.”

Joe doesn’t trust himself to speak. He thinks his heart has grown about three sizes in the last ten minutes.

“Of course,” he finally manages. “Were you there today, with the kids?”

Nicky shakes his head, the smile subsiding a little.

“Mainly governance meetings today,” he says, “and meeting with the educators.” He glances down at the photograph, and then back at Joe. “I’m careful about meeting the kids. They tend to recognise me when they’re a bit older, and that’s…” He makes a face. “You know how it can get, when we do things like this. Becomes more about _us_ than them, especially on camera. So I’d like to, but –” He shrugs. “That’s not the point. And I don’t want to just sweep in every so often, create a fuss and leave.”

He laughs, a little wry.

“My team has been wanting me to go public with it since I established it, and I get that. But it’s…special, you know?” He worries at the inside of his cheek before adding. “To me. And the last thing I or the kids need is publicity. I can do that elsewhere and bring in the funding privately.”

“Well,” Joe says, squeezing his wrist gently. “I’m sure they’re very grateful –”

“Children,” Nicky says, voice going flat, “should not have to be _grateful_.” His fingers curl in on the table top. “They shouldn’t be _grateful_ just to be cared for.”

His tone has changed so quickly Joe stares, unsure how to reply. Nicky is staring so intently at the photograph that Joe doesn’t want to disturb him. After a moment, Nicky blinks, and seems to register Joe’s silence.

“Sorry,” he says again, and turns his hand to curl his fingers around Joe’s wrist too. “I didn’t mean to – I know you don’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” Joe says. He aches to take Nicky’s face in his hands, smooth away the conflict there. “It’s obviously very precious to you, Nicky, and you’ve obviously done _a lot_ of hard work. And I know you don’t want credit for that but – it’s amazing nonetheless. I’m just glad these kids have that.”

“I have a great team on the ground,” Nicky says, smiling returning slightly. “I try to be as involved as I can, but sometimes I feel like…” He gestures to one of his many documents, miming writing. “The signature fairy.”

Joe glances at one of the pages, and then squints.

“Nicky,” he says, leaning in. “Is that a pseudonym?”

Nicky follows his gaze and then curses, trying to pull the page away. Joe, who boasts some of the quickest reflexes in the League, thank you very much – grabs it before Nicky can and holds it up with his free hand.

“Nicky,” he says, “do you sometimes go _anonymous_ by calling yourself _Nicky Smith_?”

“Shut up,” Nicky grumbles, putting his head in his free hand. “I was what – twenty-two when I set that part up? And then they needed a pseudonym for reference and I…blanked.”

“Twenty-two?” Joe repeats, shaking his head. “Okay, fine, I’ll let you off the hook. You’re just putting us all to shame, you know?”

“Lots of players do this kind of thing,” Nicky says, shrugging. “You do too.”

“Yeah, but not like _this_ ,” Joe says, returning the page and gesturing across the entire table. He spots a calendar, neatly colour-coded and almost completely full. “Not the Genovese way. Are you going to rest at all this month?”

Nicky pulls the calendar towards them and points.

“I’ve scheduled in breaks,” he says, because of course he has. Joe scans the labels and taps on one he recognises in the next week. “I thought you weren’t coming to the gala?”

Nicky glances at it and makes a face.

“No, I’m coming. It’s the big League fundraiser, I promised my manager I’d go.”

Joe leans back in his chair, grinning. His interest in the event had just risen exponentially.

“What’re you wearing for it?” he asks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you that dressed up before.”

“Quidditch uniform _is_ dressed up,” Nicky mutters, checking his dates. He curses when he realises how close the event is. “Damn it, I meant to get my suit fixed. I think there’s a hole in the jacket.”

“Wait,” Joe says, narrowing his eyes. “How many suits do you own, Nicky?”

“I don’t know,” Nicky says distractedly, running his wand along the calendar to try and shuffle appointments. “I have one for press.”

“Nicky,” Joe says, “you can’t wear _that_ one to a gala.”

“Why not?” Nicky is starting to look stressed again, lips pressed thin. “ _Cazzo_ , I forgot it was so close.” He looks at Joe, running a hand through his hair. “Do you really think I need another suit? I don’t know the first thing about – and I really don’t have time –”

Joe glances back down at the calendar.

“Can I book this slot in?” he asks, pointing at a blue-coded block of time the next day. Nicky scoffs.

“You don’t have to book time with me, Joe,” he says, and Joe tries not to preen. “I just like to be organised.”

“Cool,” Joe says, doodling his name onto the free space. The calendar slot immediately turns gold. Huh. “This is going to be _fun_.”

~*~

“This seems…” Nicky starts, and twists to look over his shoulder. Great, Joe thinks. Now he’s staring at his own ass. Now Joe is also staring at his ass. They’re both silent for a long moment. “This seems unnecessarily fitted,” Nicky says finally.

“…but is it uncomfortable?” Joe asks. How his voice still sounds normal he will never know.

“Surprisingly, no,” Nicky says. He raises his arms, testing the jacket, and then stretches down to touch his toes. Joe makes eye contact with Greta, who’s standing by with pins and wand in hand. She throws him an amused look and he makes a _can you believe what I’m working with_? face. She winks at him and he grins back, plucking another complimentary chocolate from the gilded box in front of him, next to the swatch book of suit fabrics and Nicky’s refilling champagne flute. When Greta had asked if he’d wanted tea, coffee or champagne, Nicky had repeated “… _champagne_?” as if he was testing the sanity of the question. Greta, however, had taken it as his order, and Nicky had been too embarrassed to swap. Luckily, it had relaxed him enough to answer questions, and actually try on multiple options. Joe has removed himself from the decision-making process because he thinks Nicky looks ravishing in all of them. Fortunately, Greta has been his favourite tailor since he’d first signed his brand deal with _Ana_ _ïs,_ and has saved him from many questionable fashion choices over the years. Managing Nicky must be easy in comparison.

“What do you think?” Nicky asks, turning to Greta. The guy may not understand fashion, but he always recognises competency. She gives him a clinical once over and nods.

“I think we’re onto a winner,” she says, and he tilts his head, fingers adjusting his cufflinks. Joe is very glad Nicky is focused on Greta right now; he’s not sure what his own face is doing.

“And why do you think that?” Nicky asks in his analyst voice, and Greta steps in to adjust the fabric.

“Well, I think this look will be wonderful for the gala,” she says, turning his shoulders to show him his best angle. “It fits the dress code without just being black tie, but also won’t make you stand out too much.”

Joe tries not to scoff. He knows _he’ll_ be distracted all evening if Nicky goes with this option.

“And also, if we cut you a few different shirts and add some ties, you can swap them around for different events. No need to be Joe and have a completely new suit per function.”

“Hey,” Joe says as Nicky laughs. “I mix and match!”

“Sure you do, sweetheart,” Greta says, rolling her eyes, and Nicky smiles at him in the mirror.

“Alright,” he says, nodding. “Well, it does seem very functional, thank you.” He pauses, face creasing. “Ah, what does that come to –?”

“Nothing for you, darling,” Greta says, and ignores Nicky’s noise of concern. “Let me just go pick out some ties, and you make sure you’re comfortable now.”

She strides off, and Nicky turns, eyes narrowed.

“Joe,” he says, “I’m not taking all of this for free.”

“Of course not,” Joe says, standing up from the chaise lounge and walking over to him. “What do you think really, aside from it being _functional_?”

Nicky frowns but takes himself in again, fingers running down his lapels.

“I think…” Nicky says, and then pauses, eyes meeting Joe’s in the mirror before darting away. “I think it looks fine.”

Joe raises an eyebrow, waiting, and Nicky rolls his eyes, hands sliding into his pockets.

“I think I look...good,” he says, and Joe smiles.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he says, and Nicky scoffs, but he’s smiling now, a little pink in the cheeks. He looks at himself again in the mirror and then clears his throat, frown returning.

“So how am I paying for this, exactly?”

“Well,” Joe says, and Nicky gives him a hard look. “Nicky, relax. I’ve got it sorted, okay?”

“No,” Nicky says, staring to unbutton the jacket. Joe actually has to grab his hands before he tries to pull it off and accidentally stabs himself with the multitude of pins hidden in the fabric. Nicky freezes, and Joe lets go, but doesn’t step back. Nicky shakes his head. “That’s lovely, Joe, but I can’t let you –”

“Honestly,” Joe says, “I’ve been a face for this brand for years, we have a really good relationship, and they were super keen to have you wearing them at such a public event. You just have to wear this on the night and I’ve sorted the rest.”

Nicky grimaces, and Joe reaches out to straighten his collar.

“Listen,” he says, and he can feel Nicky’s eyes on him, piercing. “Let me spoil you when it’s this easy, yeah? You said it yourself – you’ve got no time to think about this stuff, and now you won’t have to for a really long time. It’s a win-win.”

“Joe…” Nicky says, and his hands shift by his sides, like he wants to reach out, maybe. Joe looks up and plays his final card: he smiles, slow and wide and hopeful, and can almost spot the moment Nicky’s resolve caves. A win-win, indeed.

~*~

Gala day comes around in the blink of an eye, and finds Nicky calling Joe’s name up the stairs.

“Have you started getting ready yet?”

“Um,” Joe says, rolling hastily upright in bed. He is, in fact, still in his bathrobe, and had been busy messaging Nile about a hair emergency. “Sure have!”

He hears Nicky stomping up the stairs and curses. By the time Nicky bangs open his bedroom door, he’s in front of his mirror, applying moisturiser. Nicky makes an exasperated noise. 

“You’re not even _dressed_ ,” he says, and Joe turns to stare at him. _Nicky_ is still in his workout gear, and Joe gestures at his sweaty _everything_ , no words needed. Nicky scoffs.

“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes, tops,” he says. “You, on the other hand…”

“You wouldn’t be nagging me if the girls were here,” Joe mutters, leaning in to check his brows. “I knew I should’ve gotten ready with them instead.”

“Then you would’ve _all_ been late,” Nicky says, stripping off his shirt and wiping at his face. He always reverts to locker room nonchalance when working out is involved, and Joe almost stabs himself in the eye with his brow brush. “Okay, I’m going to shower, and by the time I get back, you need to be dressed with your hair _done_ , okay?”

“This isn’t a _drill_ , Nicky,” Joe says. “You can’t _rush_ perfection.”

Nicky’s laugh disappears with him down the corridor as he heads for the guest bathroom. Joe doesn’t actually take _that_ long; his hair is behaving today, thank fuck, and the rest is relatively easy. He had only been late to the gala last year because Booker had showed up at his house drunk, and Joe had had to sober him up on short notice. He doesn’t think Booker is going at all this year…He really must check on the bastard before World’s.

Joe is _basically_ ready by the time Nicky reappears, exactly twenty minutes later.

“Can you help me with these –” Nicky says as he comes in, before looking up and stopping short. Joe turns from where he’s finalising his bow tie, and watches Nicky blink several times before he says, garbled, “Uh – my cufflinks?”

“Sure,” Joe says, walking over. They’ve all got Guard logo cufflinks, and Joe takes Nicky’s wrist in his hands and fixes his to his cuffs. He can smell the cologne Nicky has on. He’s pretty sure it’s his own. Joe fumbles with the other cuff and says hastily, “Oh, do you want a watch? I’ll have one that matches, I’m sure…”

To his surprise, Nicky shakes his head and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a beautiful black piece. Its gold detailing glints in the light; subtle but striking.

“Oh, wow.” Joe holds out a hand. “May I…?”

Nicky pauses, fingers curling around it for a second before he takes a breath and places the watch carefully in Joe’s palm. It’s a mechanical one, and Joe holds it up to admire all its moving parts.

“Is this a muggle make?” he asks, squinting at the brand name.

“Yes,” Nicky says. Joe has the oddest feeling that he’s holding a piece of Nicky, heavy in his palm. Nicky’s expression is even more intense than usual.

“Didn’t think you’d go for muggle accessories,” Joe says, and Nicky laughs as he takes the watch back and fits it around his wrist.

“It was a gift,” he says as Joe takes his hand to admire it on him.

“Who from?” Joe asks, and Nicky clears his throat.

“The Le Livres, actually.”

Joe looks up at him, caught off guard.

“Booker?” he says, laughing. “He does have surprisingly good taste, but generally for fakes, I think. This one looks too legitimate for him.”

“Well,” Nicky says, inclining his head in agreement. “It was from him and – his wife. I trusted her judgement very much.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Joe says, and he gets it, he thinks, trying to fit the pieces together. “From your rookie year? That’s lasted well.”

“Yes.” Nicky smooths his thumb over the watch face. His expression is soft in the warm light of Joe’s room. “It’s the only one I have.”

Joe wants to say something – reach out maybe – assure Nicky that he can share anything with him and Joe will treasure each new piece, safe and soft and precious. Before he can, however, Nicky actually registers the time on the watch and curses, straightening.

“ _Joe_ ,” he says, and the moment is broken, both of them springing into action. “I _told_ you we’d be late –”

\--

“It’s really not like Nicky to be late,” June mutters as the team mills around the guest entrance. They’re all supposed to walk in together and get photographed in order; they’re starting to cut it close.

“No, but it _is_ like Joe,” Olivia says. Her, June and Nile are all wearing gowns in complementary shades of pastel, which they’d actually done by accident and then had really leaned into it. Chaser voodoo at its finest, for sure. “And they’re – oh, hell. Oh my God. Oh my _God_ everybody _look_.”

The team turns as one and sees Joe and Nicky hurrying towards them – Joe looking pleased; Nicky looking disgruntled. That in itself is not unusual. What _is_ unusual is –

“Nicky,” June says as they join the team. “Is that you?”

“What?” Nicky asks, looking down at himself. “Of course it’s me, what do you mean –”

“She _means_ ,” Olivia says, reaching out to tweak his bow tie, “who are you, and what have you done with _our_ Nicky, who can’t even find the right sized t-shirt?”

“Oh, hey now!” Joe laughs. “He never looks bad –”

“You be quiet,” Ferreira says, shoulder-checking him. “You’ve done nothing but cause trouble for our poor Nicky here.”

Joe gasps in mock-outrage. It’s the team’s favourite pastime now to rib him about Nicky – they have to vent their frustrations over the _Genovese-Kaysani_ dance somehow, and they’re still figuring out how far they can tease Nicky. His reputation amongst players had preceded him, along with his initially silent demeanour and scary murder eyes. He also has a special Beater bond with Andy, which is inherently terrifying. When Nicky had stood up after one of Andy’s infamous circuits and said “Great drill, boss,” without a hint of irony, the rest of the team had shared a look of pure fear, while also trying not to pass out. _One_ old-school legend is already _a lot_ ; Andy and Nicky plotting practices together is a fucking nightmare.

But then they’d seen Nicky with _Joe_ , and had watched in awe as Joe slowly drew him out of his singularly-focused shell. By October, they’d realised that Nicky was more shy than aloof, and was actually just a massive nerd that didn’t want to bore people with his niche interests. Sure, he was insanely intense about Quidditch, even by their standards, but he was also an incredibly compassionate listener with a blink-and-you-missed-it sense of humour. When Moran, their new Keeper, had confessed to missing his family back home, Nicky had shown up to their next practice with a massive container of Irish stew, and Moran had looked rather close to tears.

They also have front row seats to _Joe_ with _Nicky_ – which is equal parts embarrassing and fascinating. Seekers often define a team more than any other player, by virtue of their role and the pressure that brings. Joe seems to manage it by being a limitless force of life; exuberant and extravagant in every emotion. It’s a lot to maintain though, especially when he’s actually having a hard time: laughter turning too raucous or play teetering between risky and insane. Nicky’s influence is harder to spot, but Nile notices how Joe’s boundless energy hones itself as the season progresses. He’s still very much _him_ , presence filling every room he’s in, but it’s more mindful, more directed. When bad streaks happen, he stays on track, and it’s easy for the team to follow his lead.

They also have to watch him make an increasing fool of himself around Nicky, which becomes so consistent it feels like a ritual. When that coincides with them playing well, nobody can bear to interrupt. They respect why Joe and Nicky have yet to act upon the obvious _thing_ blossoming between them. But there’s only so much a team can take. And they’re _really_ starting to push it.

Mercifully, their cue comes, and the rest of the team pauses as Joe leads the way onto the red carpet, Nicky beside him. They complement each other like a matching set, so perfectly tailored they look straight out of a magazine. Both suits are black with matching lapels, but Joe’s shirt is white, sitting beautifully against his skin, while Nicky is in full black, highlighting his pale features. There’s a sharp spike in photographers’ calls as they walk on, the carpet exploding with camera flashes. They see Nicky blink rapidly, face tightening until Joe puts a hand low on his back and leans in. He says something that makes Nicky laugh, real and unfiltered, and when Joe pulls back he looks at Nicky like he’s forgotten the photographers even exist.

“Tell me someone’s betting on them at the holiday party,” Ferreira says, shaking his head. “I’ll take a Christmas miracle by this point. Seriously.”

~*~

The morning of the team holiday party, Joe’s kitchen looks like a bomb has gone off in it. Nicky is standing in the midst of it all, looking grim.

“Not a word,” he says at Joe’s incredulous expression. Beside him, three different bowls are mixing themselves at wand-point, and the heat from the open oven is making Nicky’s face pink. That’ll be his excuse anyway, Joe knows.

“Nicky…” Joe starts, and Nicky glares at him. “Tonight’s a potluck, remember? Everyone will bring something. You don’t have to personally cook for everybody and their families.”

“I know that,” Nicky says grumpily, closing the oven and turning back to the counter. Joe really, _really_ wants to kiss the almost-pout off his face; maybe put his arms around him while he cooks; bury his face against Nicky’s neck while he smells like cinnamon and spice. Instead, Joe just takes a very long swig of water while Nicky continues with, “but you can’t always trust people to do that, and I definitely don’t trust some of the rookies’ cooking. Besides, we have guests who have different dietary requirements and I don’t want them to be left out.”

Joe thinks about burying himself in the snow outside. Maybe it’ll help him calm down.

“Can you try this?” Nicky asks, and holds out a spoonful of tiramisu filling. Joe – because he’s an _idiot_ – walks over immediately. He wonders if he should take the spoon from Nicky, but Nicky just steps in close and raises it to Joe’s mouth.

Sometimes, Joe really has to wonder what is going through Nicky’s mind.

There’s a prolonged moment of eye contact while he takes the proffered spoonful, and Nicky stares at him so intensely Joe thinks he might combust. And then –

“Oh my God,” he says, grabbing the spoon to lick it clean. Nicky makes a slightly strangled noise. “Oh my God, that’s _delicious_ –”

“Not too much coffee?” Nicky asks, and Joe shakes his head, looking around for more. Nicky slaps his hand away before he can dip his finger in the bowl. “ _No_ ,” he says, wand waving menacingly. “Andromache specifically requested this. It has to be _perfect_.”

“You don’t have to win her over with dessert, she already loves you,” Joe points out. A timer goes off and Nicky jumps, trying to locate what needs his attention. There is flour in his hair and a streak of chocolate across his cheek.

“Alright,” Joe says, hands clasped behind his back so he doesn’t do anything phenomenally stupid. “Let’s just take breath, okay? Now – what can I help with?”

\--

Nile arrives in the late afternoon to help with final touches. Joe hustles her through to the living room with a finger pressed to his lips. She raises her eyebrows, and then widens her eyes at the amount of food already sitting on the trestle tables. _Nicky_? she mouths, and Joe nods. He’s trying to look exasperated but seems stuck on fond. Nile rolls her eyes. Joe takes the speaker she’d brought over and fiddles with it, turning the volume right up. _Watch this_ , he mouths, and hits play. Nile is grinning as soon as she hears the jingle.

_I…don’t want a lot for Christmas…_

Upstairs, a door slams open and Nicky yells out,

“ _Mi prendi per il culo? Di nuovo?!_ Yusuf, if I hear that song _one more time –_!”

_There is just one thing I need…_

“Joe, I’m _serious_ –”Nicky cuts off mid-rant, stopping short in the doorway. “Oh, hi Nile, I didn’t hear you…” His eyes widen as Joe grabs her in an exaggerated waltz and starts to dance.

“It’s _traditional_ , Nicky!” Joe shouts over the song’s aggressive chiming. “You have to get into the _spirit_.”

“Nile has that excuse, you do _not_ ,” Nicky shouts back as Nile twirls under Joe’s arm, laughing. “You don’t even _believe_ –”

“Ah, but half these songs are just about _holidays_ and _love_ , Nicky,” Joe says, dipping Nile so low her hair almost touches the ground. “And I definitely believe in those two things.”

Once Joe sets her upright again and turns the music down a little, Nicky asks Nile to give the house a critical once-over with him. Anywhere Nicky’s been in charge of is immaculate; anywhere Joe’s been is completely over-decorated.

“Thought you hated big parties,” she says, nudging him. “But you really went all out, huh.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, and then clasps his hands behind his back. “I like the team. And I know this event is very important to us. So…” He shrugs. “I wanted to make sure it goes well. That’s all.”

“Aw, Nicky,” Nile says, giving his broad shoulders a squeeze. “We love you too.” She pauses. “In fact, we love you so much now that your immunity might be wearing thin. Just saying.”

Nicky frowns.

“What does that mean?” he asks, but Nile pretends to hear Joe calling for her outside and moves swiftly away. “Nile? What do you _mean_ –?”

Guests arrive thick and fast, team and crew members traipsing in with partners and kids, and the house fills rapidly with chatter and laughter. Joe and Nicky run a seamless operation from front door to kitchen; Joe on welcome duty, Nicky handling food logistics. Everyone compliments Nicky on his handiwork when they greet him, and Nile watches his anxiety melt into quiet relief. He has definitely ensured a better organised event this year, and front office is especially grateful. She watches the house fill and thinks how much it feels like home, her immediate and extended family all cramming under one roof. She thinks of church, and all the events she’s missing over the Christmas period. It’s a small compromise, perhaps, to be doing what she loves, but still…

“Hey.” Andy appears beside her and Nile blinks back into focus. “Got news for you.”

“Only good news, I hope,” Nile says, clinking glasses with her. Andy smiles, and her expression is softer than usual. It might just be the lighting; the place is _filled_ with fairy lights. Andy pulls an envelope from her jacket pocket and hands it to Nile, who takes a peek inside and gasps.

“ _No_ ,” she says, and Andy laughs. “These must’ve been such a bitch to get.”

Inside are transatlantic portkey tickets for Christmas Eve. Literally – from just after pre-game practice ends and back again later that night.

“It’s not great timing,” Andy says, “and if the time zone jumps throw you off the next day, I’ll bench you. But I know…how much this time means for you and your family. So.”

Nile throws her arms around Andy before she can escape, and hugs her tight. Andy lets out a little _oof_ that makes Nile laugh, before her arms come up to squeeze Nile back.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Nile says before pulling back. “Listen, I’ve got to call my mom, she’ll be _ecstatic_. Can you make sure no one pranks the boys too badly while I’m away? I have a feeling…”

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Andy says, smirking. “Go on. I’ll hold the fort.”

\--

Nicky is leaning down to locate one of Ferreira’s runaway kids when he feels something brush the top of his head. He stands, hand raising, and feels something floating above him. When he tries to catch it, however, it flits away from him. Strange.

“Nicky, did you find –” Ferreira stops short, eyes fixing above Nicky’s head. “Oh my.”

“What is it?” Nicky asks, still trying to grab it. It’s definitely something charmed, and he’s aware of several team members milling around close by, looking suspiciously innocent. Ferreira looks close to giggling.

“Ah…it’s mistletoe, I think,” he says, and Nicky feels himself go red. _This_ , he knows.

“Can you get it down?” he asks, and Ferreira makes a half-hearted grab for it. It seems to be shedding gold glitter as it goes.

“It’s one of those holiday gag charms, Nicky,” Ferreira says. “More of a hassle to get rid of than to just let it wear itself out. It’ll be gone in no time.”

Nicky does not think that’s true at all, but then he remembers what Nile had said about his immunity being over and realises – the team is _pranking_ him. It had happened with previous teams, especially as a rookie, but he’d always got less than his peers. People seemed…wary of him, maybe, or just more distant. For the most part, Nicky’s fine with it – he not a fan of being humiliated. But with the Guard…He feels warm, cheeks heating. It’s not bad. So he just rolls his eyes and acquiesces, calling out to Andy when she passes by. “Andy, have you seen Jamie?”

“Hm, I think Joe found him,” Andy replies, and then stops. “Oh, I see you’re the recipient of the mistletoe curse this year.”

“Oh, it’s traditional?” Nicky asks, feeling mollified.

“Only for the special few,” Andy says, and sidles up to him. She smirks at his expression before darting in to smack a kiss on his cheek. “Happy holidays, sucker!”

It’s at this point that Joe appears next to them, carrying Jamie in his arms.

“Found him!” Joe says triumphantly, returning him to Ferreira. He catches sight of Nicky and freezes, eyes going wide. “Oh…dear…” he says. “Uh, Nicky, do you want me to get rid of –”

“Where’s your _holiday spirit_ , al-Kaysani?” Ferreira says, bouncing his son in his arms. “Either kiss the lad or keep him cursed forever, it’s your choice.”

“That’s not – it’s not _cursed_ –” Joe says, looking flustered. Nicky feels much the same. “I’m just…” Joe nearly backs into Nile, who takes one look at Nicky and throws her hands in the air.

“I was gone for _ten minutes_ ,” she gripes, and then moves towards him, motioning at the team. “Come here, you poor bastard.”

In the ensuing chaos, Joe slips away. Nicky doesn’t blame him; he has no idea what he would do if Joe really did kiss him. He can’t even think about it without his brain blanking, so he just avoids it, letting the rest of the team have their fun instead. For a prank, it’s surprisingly nice – he just gets a lot of bear hugs and kisses on the cheek. It’s…lovely, really. He can’t remember the last time he’d got this many hugs off the pitch.

The damn thing is still floating over his head long after dinner. Nicky levitates all the leftover food back to the kitchen so he can box them up; the rookies could always use the meal prep. He’s struggling to find space when Joe appears beside him, clearing the counter so Nicky can set the plates down.

“Thank you,” Nicky says, shooting him a smile. The party is still in full swing, but slightly muted from where they’re standing, just off to the side. The kitchen feels like their own little world, just adjacent to the chaos.

“Are you having a good time?” Joe asks, taking the empty plates and setting them to wash. He bats at Nicky when he tries to help. “Don’t be so busy hosting that you forget to enjoy yourself.”

“I _am_ enjoying myself,” Nicky says, leaning against the counter next to him. Joe looks warm and cozy in a chunky knit sweater, which is red and green with snitches moving across the stitching. Nicky wants to bunch his hands in it; actually, he wants to put his hands _under_ it, but that is probably just the wine talking. “Definitely the best holiday party I have been to.”

Joe smiles at him so widely it crinkles his eyes.

“I’m glad,” he says, voice soft. “I’m really glad you like the team, Nicky.”

“I’m really glad they like _me_ ,” Nicky says, which feels a little too honest to say but it’s Joe, and he’s always honest with Joe. “They pranked me, Joe. Thoughtfully. They pranked me thoughtfully.”

Joe’s eyes stray up to where the mistletoe is still hovering. It seems to be vibrating more than before, because glitter keeps dropping onto him. Joe steps in to brush some off his shoulder, and they both go still when they realise how close they are: Nicky pressed against the counter; Joe just in front of him. Every nerve in Nicky’s body sharpens as Joe’s gaze drop to his mouth – Joe is _definitely_ looking at –

“Do you boys need any – oh! I’m so sorry.”

They jump apart, almost knocking into some plates. Katie, their Equipment Manager’s wife, is framed in the doorway, hand hovering over her mouth.

“Not at all,” Joe says smoothly. Nicky has forgotten what English even is. “Just clearing dinner. We could actually have dessert now, I think?”

“Yeah, for sure,” she says, and then they’re off again, sending out another stream of dishes. Joe presses a hand against his back when Andy declares Nicky’s tiramisu the best she’s ever tasted, and Nicky can’t help but smile as the team cheers. He knows nothing is ever perfect, but this – this feels pretty damn close.

\--

By the time the party’s winding down, Joe can tell Nicky’s almost asleep on his feet. He’d had an early start and not stopped all day, so it’s little wonder. He’d also been more social during the party than Joe had ever seen him, small-talking with each extended family member. He’d been on a one-man crusade to give every parent a break, and Joe had watched him carry a baby in each arm while a toddler clung to his back like a koala. Aida had snapped a picture for PR, and Joe has to agree – it’s one of the best memories of the night. That damn mistletoe is also in the photo, because no matter how many joking kisses he receives, it remains above his head.

But the Guard is nothing if not full on, and by the time the last guests are clearing out Nicky is bumping into tables and apologising to them. Joe shuts the front door for the final time and stands for a moment in the sudden quiet of the house. His music is still playing, but it’s soft now, sweet and slow. He hears movement in the kitchen and finds Nicky trying to clean up, bleary-eyed.

“Seriously,” Joe says, putting an arm around him and leading him to the lounge. Nicky’s pliant against him, smelling like chocolate and wine. Joe sits him gently down on the couch, and Nicky’s hand catches in his sweater and pulls him down too. It’s a familiar spot. They’ve spent many a night on this couch, watching movies together or talking, and sometimes just sharing space; Nicky reading and Joe drawing. They’ve never sat like this though: Joe with his arm around Nicky’s shoulders; Nicky’s head leaning against him. They fit together so well Joe doesn’t want to move.

“Great…party,” Nicky mumbles, and Joe smiles down at him. “Great team. Time. Great team time.”

“Very much so,” Joe agrees, and Nicky hums, shifting closer like he’s seeking warmth. If Joe didn’t know better, he’d call it snuggling. The mistletoe above Nicky’s head bumps him in the face, and he blows at it, trying to make it leave without disturbing Nicky. It only shakes its leaves at him mockingly, and he sighs. He knows why it won’t go; knows how to make it leave.

“Nicky?” he whispers, just to check.

“Mm,” Nicky replies. His eyes are closed.

“I’m just going to make this go away, okay?” he says, and Nicky nods against him, face turned into his sweater. Very slowly, Joe turns his head to press a kiss into Nicky’s hair, as gently as he can. It’s so much less than what he wants – what they both want, he knows – but it’s also perfect for now. The rest will come. He has faith in that; has faith in _them_. But for now, he draws Nicky close and kisses the top of his head. Nicky makes a contented noise and burrows closer, and Joe smiles into his hair, heart squeezing. Above them, the mistletoe shivers before disintegrating in a soft shower of glitter, finally satisfied. Joe cards his fingers through Nicky’s hair to get the glitter out, humming quietly along to the final track, watching the last embers glow in the fireplace. Maybe he says something, mumbled against Nicky’s hair; words he’s been holding in for a very long time. But it’s okay – because by then? Nicky is fast asleep.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Me: just do a little Christmas ficlet as a break from mainfic! Holiday cheer baby!  
> Me, 11k later: …fuck. 
> 
> I hope this pine-tastic retrospective has brought you some December / holiday / Christmas cheer! And a little more insight into this truly enormous verse. 
> 
> Next up in _sidefics that were unplanned but has completely taken over_ : the missing scene directly after the lads’ first kiss 😉 
> 
> All feedback welcome ♥


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